


Fetish.

by School_Of_The_Cat



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Body Worship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Prohibition, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25907785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/School_Of_The_Cat/pseuds/School_Of_The_Cat
Summary: In 1920's Baltimore, Will Graham owns a little theatre which goes by the name "The Stag". Though by day it appears to be just an innocent theatrical establishment, by night it transforms into a vibrant Burlesque house that pulsates with life. Though he's seen his fair share of lowlifes within his doors, the appearance of a particular man piques his interest- not only because he looks dangerous, but because every night he visits he seems to ignore the girls on stage, electing instead to keep his hungry eyes trained on Will. The two are forced to navigate sex, love and obsession in the midst of 1920's American glamour.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 56





	1. The Stag

Maryland in the 1920s was pulsating with life. America was basking in a newfound wealth brought by the renewal and rebirth of a post-world war society, champagne and diamonds being the envy of every working middle-class-man in the country. The streets were more vibrant as night fell than they ever were during the day, with illegal speakeasies and midnight cabarets ruling the streets of Baltimore. Business owners naturally began picking up on this, often opening their doors to offer secret pleasures that only the night could afford to share.

Will Graham owned a little theatre called The Stag on the corner of Pratt street, across from the bakery and drug store. He loved his theatre, and always made sure the sign in lights out front always had a fresh coat of white paint, taking special care to make sure none of the lightbulbs ever burnt out.

He loved the daytime performances most of all; the dramatic interpretations of _Romeo and Juliet_ , _Always You_ , and his personal favourite, _The Butterfly’s Evil Spell_. He would mutely watch from the catwalk backstage as the actor’s painted faces twisted and warped into any number of expressions, all weaving around the stage in their pre-meditated dances. He enjoyed losing himself in the characters, imagining that he was there, in that moment, as Romeo called up to Juliet on the parapet balcony, that he felt the pain same and heartbreak of the poison flooding his veins as he collapsed, now cold, to the floor. Then the scene would end, and the audience would clap, and the curtains would draw closed, and Will Graham would once again return to being himself. He would repeat this charade each afternoon with each new performance, slowly allowing himself to be stolen away by the actors to some faraway place and time, and to be lulled into security by their colourful and fantastic stories.

He would’ve continued on like this forever, in his little theatre on Pratt street, hypnotized by the languid motions of the actors below him. However money was becoming increasingly tight, and soon he couldn’t afford to replace each burst lightbulb or chipped section of paint on his theatre sign out front.

It was as 1919 drew to a close that he heard about the businesses that were brought on by the nightlife. The jeweller, whose shop bordered on the corner of Pratt and President, had mentioned to him over drinks that he knew of a theatre downtown, The Marigold, that was facing foreclosure until they made the decision to open their doors after-hours. “A series of special performances” he had called it, though Will, as well as everyone else, knew what it _really_ was that the theatre had offered.

Burlesque.

Though Will didn’t want to rely on less savoury theatrics to sustain his business, he knew of little else that could bring in the money he so desperately needed. Live theatre was fading in popularity with the rise of moving pictures, much to his dismay. So at the turn of the year, he opened his theatre’s doors into the night air for the very first time.

He hung a sign on the solid oak door that labelled:

“The Red Stag Cabaret”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> starting a new fic before finishing my other ones? You bet


	2. Meeting The Red Dragon

“Busy night, Alana?”

Will Graham pushed through the swinging doors from the back room of the Red Stag Cabaret, flipping through a stack of money. He approached the bar where a stressed looking waitress balanced a bottle of rum in each hand.

The hall was vibrant and alive with lights and shifting bodies, the women dancing on stage glowing as their rhinestoned costumes winked at the audience below. Men hollered from the crowd, tossing money onstage and clapping and drinking, filling the air with the scent of cheap cigars and wine.

Alana Bloom smiled apologetically to Will as she slid a newly-filled shot glass down the bar countertop.

“No busier than last night. Looks like your idea to start selling bootlegged alcohol at the shows is paying off. Just hope the pigs don’t find this place.”

“Me too. But, with the money we made from this past week I can finally afford to replace that stage light that was giving us trouble this past month.”

Alana shot Will a sly little sideways smile as she began filling another glass.

“You really love this theatre, huh?”

Will didn’t respond, but the glint in his eye said enough. He loved the escapism it gave him- a purpose to his life that he could no longer deny, gave him great pleasure. He loved being someone else.

One of the girls onstage kicked her leg high into the air and the men cheered, laughing and shouting riotously.

Will watched the crowd with amusement, eyes glancing over their excited faces, each turned towards the stage so that the lights illuminated their features. But as his gaze reached the very furthest row at the back of the theatre, which was almost entirely empty and shrouded in shadow, he jumped when he locked eyes with the man sitting there.

He looked European, possibly Lithuanian or something of the sort, all high cheekbones and slicked back greying hair, wearing a smart-looking burgundy suit. Usually, the patrons of the cabaret theatre had their gaze thoroughly fixed on the stage, paying little mind to neither Will nor Alana, unless they wanted to order a drink. A few less-than-pleasant looking groups would sit in the back to conduct their business undisturbed, but even then they still generally kept to themselves, not wanting to raise the suspicions of the theatre owner. But this man’s eyes bore into Will, with a look not dissimilar to one a fox would give a rabbit just before sinking its teeth into it's plush fur. He shivered, though felt strangely compelled not to look away, as if breaking eye contact would somehow mean admitting defeat. The man’s lips curled, his eyes squinting with a smile, and Will’s palms began to sweat. Just as he was about to approach him, Alana touched his shoulder, making him jump.

“Where’d you go?” Alana asked, now cleaning an empty glass with a rag.

“Nowhere. It’s just… that man sitting there, in the furthest row, do you know him?”

Alana craned her neck to look across the theatre into the darkened corner. After a moment of squinting, she shrugged.

“I’ve seen him here a few times now, but I’m not sure what his name is or anything. He looks like bad news though, maybe mafia.”

Will’s eyes wandered back over to the dark corner and met the man’s gaze again, his eyelids heavy and lips slightly parted in a smirk. He looked hungry.

The night carried on mostly without contempt, and still, the man watched Will from his shrouded corner. He could feel the gaze tingling at the back of his neck when he turned away, and though he felt increasingly uneasy, something else was broiling in his stomach, something closer to curiosity than fear. Part of him wanted to approach him, question him about who he was or why he _just kept staring like that_. But the more rational, cautious part of himself sent off alarm bells, warning him that he was dangerous and that getting wrapped up with a guy like that could only end badly. Still, as day began to break outside the theatre’s windows, and the other patrons began to file out of the hall as Alana put away the drinks and glasses, the man still sat, ever watchful. Will realized he likely wouldn’t leave until he had spoken to him.

He approached, feeling as if he was delicately placing his leg into the metal jaws of a bear trap.

“I’m sorry sir, but the cabaret is closing for the night.”

He sat, quietly looking up at him before responding,

“I’ve always loved the costumes worn in theatre. Even costumes for something as based as burlesque, have a near simplistic elegance to their design. Did you make them?”

Will was a bit taken aback by the question, glancing up at the retiring burlesque dancers who were tiredly climbing off the stage.

“Ah, no. My bartender, Alana, sewed most of them. She also makes the costumes for our daytime performances.”

“I see. I have been visiting your theatre for a while now, during the day at least. I always find your renditions of popular plays to be so much more… human.”

Will’s heart leapt as their eyes met on the last word. Slightly emboldened now, he decided to press on-

“If you don’t mind me asking, mr…?”

“Lecter. Hannibal, please.”

“Mr. Lecter. If you don’t mind me asking, why weren’t you watching the girls like the other patrons?”

Hannibal smiled with that dangerous look again.

“They aren’t to my tastes.”

“O-oh, well. I guess I find it strange then for you to spend your money here if you aren’t interested in the entertainment we have to offer.”

“Oh, I am plenty entertained. You see,” he stood up to lean forward, reaching down to speak in a low voice into Will’s ear- “I seem to have developed a taste for you, Mr. Graham.”

Will’s blood pulsed loudly in his ears but he dared not move, only stood rooted in place as Hannibal reached to drop a small white card into his breast pocket.

“My card. I hope to see you again soon.”

And with that he pushed past him, pulling on his jacket and hat and stepping out of the theatre onto the busy street outside. Fear consumed Will’s body as he shook slightly, releasing a breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding. He didn’t dare look at the card left in his pocket, even though Hannibal’s words continued to echo in his mind for the rest of the day.


	3. A Bushel of Roses

A string of murders had been appearing in Maryland since the start of the year. This had not troubled Will Graham at the time, as although he’d read about the missing women in the newspaper, he never gave it much thought, as it seemed to be an issue that lay far away from him and his little theatre. The press had named the killer the “Chesapeake Ripper” for the grotesquely violent way the victims were found, flayed and hung, dressed up like virgin angels from old renaissance paintings. The killings were upsetting to be sure, but Will found himself quickly forgetting about them as the lights dimmed and the curtains opened to reveal a cast of colourful actors standing proudly on his little wooden stage. In fact, Will was happy to forget about the murders altogether. That was until one of his burlesque dancers disappeared.

It was dusk, and the streetlights had started to turn on outside, signalling the beginning of another busy night, but as the streets began to fill with anxious patrons, Will and Alana were busy desperately searching for their lead dancer, who hadn’t shown up to work that day. The other girls had said they hadn’t seen her at all recently, and that her shoes and keys had been left in the dressing room backstage. As they searched, a chilling feeling began to wash over Will as Hannibal’s hungry eyes flashed in his mind.

They found the girl a few hours later, strung up in the back alley, her skin peeled away to reveal the musculature underneath, the flesh suspended by fishing wire to resemble an angel’s wings.

* * *

“I’m just so shocked. I never would’ve imagined something like this could happen to one of my dancers.” Will said shakily, staring into his coffee while fiddling with a silver teaspoon. Sitting across from him was his good friend Jack Crawford, an investigator working on the Chesapeake murders. They had known each other since childhood, as they had grown up in the same quiet neighbourhood in Baltimore. Once the body had been found Will called him in quite a panic, hoping he could shed some light on what happened.

“I can’t say I’m entirely surprised, Will. She did fit the profile.” Jack sipped his tea, calmly examining the photographs of viscera that lay sprawled across the table between them.

“But even still, the Stag is just a little theatre, I would’ve expected him to target the Marigold, o-or the Orson Theatre downtown!” Will was beginning to feel lightheaded.

“Have you spoken to Chilton? He owns the Marigold, right? Surely he’s had dancers go missing.”

Will shook his head lithely. His was the first theatre to be attacked by the killer since he arrived in Baltimore, that much he was sure of.

“Listen, you should close your theatre for a few days, for the sake of your girls. The Ripper's main targets seem to be women working as burlesque dancers and prostitutes. I would really rather you didn’t have to stumble across any more desecrated corpses. I know that you can be… sensitive.”

Will stiffened, straightening his glasses. “I’m not sensitive.”

“Well, maybe that wasn’t the right word for it. All I know is that when you look at a body like that, you can picture yourself putting it there. You’ve always been _imaginative_ like that, and I’d rather not have to put you through something like that again. Trust me, just shut your doors for just a few days or so, or until we have a more solid lead on this guy.”

Though Will was immensely disappointed, deep down he knew that Jack was right- he had to close his doors for a few days, if not for anything else then at least for the safety of his actors. 

“Oh, and Will? Don’t mention to any other officers that it’s a burlesque theatre you’re running. I’d rather not have to deal with the paperwork on that.”

* * *

Will stood centre stage in the darkened theatre, his eyes closed. He could hear Alana sweeping in the back room, but the amphitheatre was otherwise silent. It gave him a feeling that was something between uneasy and peaceful, the muffled quiet of the outside filtering in through the thin theatre walls. A stream of moonlight flood in through the front windows, making the shadows appear blue and slanted. Alana was singing something in the back room and Will smiled, eyes still closed as he was coddled by darkness. In a way having to close the theatre for a few nights was a secret blessing- Will had forgotten how much he missed the silence. However, he knew that he would have to suffer through the daytime tomorrow, acting entirely as himself. This disheartened him somewhat.

“Alright, all done. I’m gonna head home if that’s alright with you,” Alana peeked out from the backroom, leaning her broom against a wall. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, fine. Just thinking. You can go on ahead, I just wanted to check a few things before I lock up.”

Alana gave him a nod and a short wave, before disappearing back into the back room again. Will waited until he heard the click of the door shutting behind her before he closed his eyes again, stretching out to lay down with his head against the polished wood surface of the stage. He almost felt like he was falling into the floor, the silence and darkness creating a bubble of serenity and relaxation around him. He sighed. 

Then there was a knock at the theatre door, which almost made him leap to his feet in surprise. It was a short, crisp knock, and somehow, before he even had a chance to look, he already knew who it belonged to. As he reached the door to unlock it, he hesitated, his hand refusing to grip the handle. He took a deep breath and willed himself to open it, the sounds of the night flooding in and destroying the silence of his cocoon. Hannibal Lecter stood in the doorway, dressed immaculately, holding a bushel of roses in one arm.

“Hello, Will. I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were closed for this evening.”

Will’s mouth went dry, his eyes widening at the roses slung in Hannibal’s arms.

“Y-yes, one of our dancers went missing. We hung a sign outside.”

Hannibal pretended to be surprised by this, putting on a show of looking behind him to notice the “closed” sign leaned against the entrance.

“My apologies.”

Will went quiet, trying his best to avoid Hannibal’s piercing gaze. It was gentle, his eyes softened, yet still Will felt it prodding at him as if demanding something from him.

“Would you like a drink?” Will’s tongue had moved without permission, and before he could stop it. But it was too late, as Hannibal was already grinning and pushing past the threshold into the theatre's interior.

“Ah, I nearly forgot. These are for you.” Hannibal pressed the roses gently into Will’s unsteady hands. The clear cellophane wrapper was decorated with tiny rhinestones, and crinkled in Will’s arms as he clutched them. He felt his face go hot.

“Whatever did I do to deserve these?”

Hannibal removed his coat, sliding it over the back of a velvet chair.

“I came to see your rendition of _The Blue Flame_ yesterday, and found it to be absolutely breathtaking.” His eyes kept a steady mark on Will as he moved to sit in the chair, gesturing for Will to do the same. He grabbed a wine bottle and two glasses, almost automatically, sitting as if some unforeseen hand pushed him down into the chair. He sat stiffly, still holding the flowers.

“I wanted to thank you for supporting the fine arts.”

“I-I, um, t-thank you. But it should be the actors you're thanking, not me. I merely supply them a place to perform.”

Hannibal poured the two of them wine, watching as Will gently touched one of the rose petals between his fingers. They were soft, like velvet, and slightly cool from the night air.

“I picked them from my garden this morning. They bloomed just recently, and I couldn’t help but think of you as I cut them.”

Will’s heart quickened in his ribs, and he clutched the roses tighter. The same feeling of fear from the night before quickly returned to him- the feeling that he was wading into a deep, black ocean.

“I wonder, do you have thorns too, Will?” Hannibal sipped his wine.

“I don’t think so?”

“Well, I suppose that remains to be seen.”

Will fidgeted in his chair.

"Are you afraid of me, Mr. Graham?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"You look... dangerous."

This made Hannibal smile quite wickedly. "Clever boy."

"Are you mafia? Or something else?"

"Perhaps I lay somewhere between the two."

There was more silence, the sound of the plastic wrapping crinkling around the roses only increasing Will's anxiety.

"Business is business, I suppose."

Perhaps it was the mystery that surrounded Hannibal that kept Will rooted in his seat. Or maybe it was the intense and unrelenting fear growing in his gut as he looked at him. Either way, he dared not move, nor breathe, for fear that he would suddenly be swallowed whole by the man sitting across from him. 

“I want to invite you to dinner at my estate.” Hannibal mused, swirling the wine in his glass.

“Dinner?” Will blinked, his fear dissipating, now replaced with confusion.

“Yes. I feel somewhat compelled to know you, and I'm sure you will have your share of questions as well.”

“I suppose so.”

“So, do you decline my offer?”

Will’s rational mind screamed for him to reject him, to shout in his face and turn him out the door that instant, but he hesitated as he met Hannibal’s gaze again. It was such a chilling look he gave him; as if he were memorizing every pore and hair on his face, analyzing each tensed muscle and pinched nerve.

“I’m free tomorrow.”

Hannibal’s smile was shark-like.

“I’ll be counting the seconds.”

With that Hannibal stood and left as swiftly and silently as he came. Will waited for the click of the door, then he was alone again in his darkened, silent theatre. Suddenly the quiet darkness seemed less comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's a long one. Just a heads up for future updates I am very touch-and-go w being able to come up with ideas so sorry in advance for long gaps between updates xx


	4. Tourmaline Blue

The Lecter estate was hidden deep in the country; a beautiful Romanesque-style mansion that clung to the greying hillside surrounded in all directions by sturdy black spruce trees. Will’s cab shuddered to a stop at the foot of the hill before a large wrought-iron gate which had the family crest inlaid into the metal structure. He thanked the driver, and paid his fee, before climbing out from the safety of the car and into the chill of the late-autumn air. He had the distinct feeling of being watched as he pried open the gate and forced his way inside. He couldn’t deny that the whole scenario reminded him uncannily of Bram Stoker’s _Dracula_.

A little way up from the gate, where the trees broke into a large clearing, was a beautiful rose garden. That’s where Will found Hannibal, sitting amidst the flowers on an iron bench, sipping a deep red wine from the glass in his hand. He was dressed immaculately as always, making Will feel somewhat underdressed in comparison, standing in his cheap tweed jacket. Hannibal stood with a cunning grin.

“So glad you could make it, Will.”

He offered Will his arm, which he took most timidly. They walked together up through the sprawling rose garden in silence, finding their way across the stone path to where the ivy clung to the rocks of the mansion’s exterior.

The inside of the main house was as impressive as the outside, with large mid-century style windows illuminating the foyer and library, where Will was sat and offered tea. He was then treated to conversation, though it was a stilted and somewhat awkward kind, as he couldn't ignore the distinct feeling that Hannibal was slowly tasting him with his eyes.

“The first performance I saw in your theatre was _The Butterfly’s Evil Spell._ ”

“Oh, that’s one of my favourites,” Will mumbled, finding himself unable to meet Hannibal’s gaze.

“The sudden appearance of the eponymous butterfly. I would say that sentiment feels all too familiar.”

Will fidgeted in his chair.

“That was where I met your colleague Alana. She told me the reason your actors behave so lifelike is because you take extra care to train them personally.”

“Well, watching them rehearse I try and imagine myself in their shoes. Try and picture how I would feel if I were there, on that stage.”

“Such incredible empathy.” Hannibal mused. “It’s a shame you’re not the one in the spotlight. You'd make quite the captivating subject.”

“Well, I’m not very good with people.”

For dinner, Hannibal served smoked lamb with honeyed apples. They ate silently in the immaculate scarlet dining hall, Hannibal watching each bite Will took with a hungry gaze, before swiftly doing the same.

Will felt he could barely eat, his stomach tied in knots. He’d felt uneasy since he’d arrived, and the feeling had not lessened, despite his stay being perfectly adequate thus far. There was something undeniably dangerous about Hannibal; his movements so carefully calculated and demeanour so poised, Will couldn’t help but wonder what beast lay within such a polished exterior. Gathering his courage, he decided to prod at his host.

“So what is it you do for work, Mr Lecter?”

“I’m a doctor.”

“Oh, sorry, I suppose I should be calling you Dr Lecter then. Medical or…?”

“Psychiatric.”

“I see.” This troubled Will somewhat, as he had a strong distrust for people who dealt with the mind. He found they were often very strange, and excelled in manipulation.

“I work for a very powerful family. But you figured that much out already.”

Will nodded timidly. 

“Such a perceptive little flower.”

The meal continued on in the strange pantomime, Will feeling uneasy and Hannibal supplying the reason for such unease.

“The Verger family, have you heard of them?”

“I think so. They own most of the speakeasies around my theatre.”

“I work as their psychiatrist.”

Will stopped eating, a troubled expression donned upon his face.

“Tell me, Will. What do you think crosses the mind of a fleeing deer? Do you think it knows once it's escape is futile? Does it know the exact moment once its passed the point of no return?”

Will stood up suddenly from the table, the shakiness of his ascent clattering the silverware to the floor. Hannibal sat still, a cool expression upon his face.

“Does the deer see the bear trap before its leg becomes ensnared?” 

Will shuddered, fear potent enough in his blood to convince him to finally flee from the suffocating man. He mumbled an excuse to leave, turning to the doorway, but not before Hannibal managed to sneak in one final remark;

“You know, Will, you have the loveliest eyes. Tourmaline blue."

Will fled the manor as quickly as his feet could carry him. He raced down the cobble path back through the rose garden, into the dark spruce forest to the wrought-iron gate, where he ran out to the road, desperate to hail a cab.

The ride home was spent trying to level his erratic breathing, his hands struck with shakiness and a cold sweat. He was foolish to test fate as he did, to come closer to Hannibal Lecter than he ever should have. Will was terrified to arrive home to his theatre burned to the ground, or his apartment ransacked by mafia thugs. It would’ve served him right, poking the bear as he did. 

Once the cab finally pulled up to the Stag, Will’s heart dropped at the sight of police cars and yellow tape. He exited quickly, pushing through the crowd only to be stopped by Jack, who had a gaunt look to his face. Will barely even heard what Jack was saying to him, his eyes fixed on the horrible scene behind him. Pinned to the door of Will’s theatre was another one of his burlesque dancers, her skin peeled away like wings, except this time, two blue tourmaline gemstones were set into her barren eye sockets. 


End file.
